


Dreams and Stories

by HiddenTohru



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-20
Updated: 2010-07-20
Packaged: 2017-10-10 16:57:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/101991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiddenTohru/pseuds/HiddenTohru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laeti falls on the battlefield and has a pain-induced recollection of a previous night she spent with her beloved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreams and Stories

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in January 2010.

A dull _thunk_ and suddenly she feels pain blossoming in her chest. As her body screams, her mind calmly reminds her that this is what an arrow feels like. _An arrow,_ she thinks, _but arrows never hurt this much._ The others have not noticed yet, that she is falling, and as she struggles for one more breath through the pain, her vision begins to fade into black.

\---------------------------

The previous night, as she lay sweetly in her lover's arms, cradled by his warm scent of clean sweat and oiled leather, she had struggled for sleep. Wanting not to wake him, as she enjoyed his deep, even breathing, the rise and fall of his smooth chest under her head, she sighed and wished once more for a mind not so weighed down with sorrows, one that would allow at least a temporary escape into the Fade. As if on cue, her lover had stirred, opened his eyes, had smiled in the sweetest way, and asked her what was wrong.

"Oh, nothing. I just can't sleep, is all." She ran one hand lightly down his arm, taking a little comfort in what was becoming a familiar body.

"Well, you should've woken me up. You know I'd feel guilty if my snoring kept you awake all night." He grinned, and she couldn't help but smile back, as his joking always made her do.

"You don't snore. Well, at least, it doesn't bother me." She turned her eyes away, toward the wall of the tent, not wanting to speak the truth, but he was too quick for her.

"Mmmhmm. You're a pretty bad liar, for a rogue. Care to tell me what's really bothering you, then?" He gently pulled her chin up, so she was looking in his eyes again.

"Will you tell me a story, instead? I don't think... I'm not ready to talk about it, yet." She looked back at him, her eyes silently pleading for him not to push, not to ask, as the subject was still too painful to discuss, even in such an intimate setting.

"Wouldn't Leliana make a better storyteller than me, though? I mean, she's trained in it and all, I'm just a dumb guy who swings swords around." He had taken her meaning, and used the only way he knew to hide his concern, by turning it into a joke.

"You're not dumb." She kissed him, affectionately, to punctuate her words. "And anyway, she doesn't know many Ferelden stories. I grew up hearing about the Dales and tales about how humans had enslaved us and all, I don't know most sh- I mean, most human stories."

"Well, I suppose... There's one tale I was told, when I was a child. Forgive my failures as a storyteller, I'm sure our resident bard would be shocked at the liberties I'm taking with the original text, but this is how it was told to me."

\---------------------------

Many centuries ago, when Ferelden was still a new land, too young to understand the value of dressing nicely and holding court, a knight by the name of Tyrell decided to join the Exalted March. He had been raised to believe the Chant of Light was the holy word of Andraste, prophet of the Maker, and so it seemed right to him to spread this word to all, even by force. He was the third son of a lesser bann, barely a generation removed from barbarianism, but he was quick with a sword and always had a kind word for those less fortunate, and his bearing was noble, whether his blood was or not.

On his way north, to join the March, he came upon a small farmstead. The fields were fallow, and he heard no sounds of animals beyond the innocent songs of birds. Stopping for a moment by the well, to slake his thirst and rest his weary feet, he heard the sound of someone weeping. Looking about him, he finally spied a lovely young woman standing on the other side of the house, crying her eyes out. Cautiously, he approached the maiden, aware that some thieves made elaborate shows before gutting their targets, but she did not seem aware of his approach. Indeed, he was upon her before she looked up and, with a start, seemed about to run away. He smiled, however, and her fear was stilled. "My lady," he said, with a slight bow, "will you tell me why you were crying?"

The young woman had never seen a man so noble and shining, so she was lost for words for a moment, but Ferelden women are hardy, and she was no exception. "My lord," she replied, with a deep curtsey, "I was crying because I am alone. Last week my youngest brother went to join the Exalted March, in hope of finding riches in the looting. He is the last of my three brothers who went. My mother and father died many years ago, and when my brother left me, I was attacked by highwaymen. I managed to defend my honor, but they took the remaining animals and food, and I am left with no livelihood. I was crying because I have nothing left."

Struck by her story, and even more by her beauty, Tyrell reached into his purse and withdrew five silver coins. "Please, take this. It may buy you at least a few small animals to feed yourself with, and perhaps when your brothers return, they will make you as rich as a queen. I myself go to join them on the March, and I feel we will indeed be victorious."

The lady graciously accepted the coins, with many thanks, but then took his hand, and said fiercely, "my lord, I would rather my brothers return penniless, if only they return. I would go to join them, if I could, only they took all the remaining coin with them to buy their swords and armor."

Tyrell gazed upon this maiden, so lovely and fierce, and felt his heart moved. "May I ask your name, sweet one? If I know it, then I may bring word to your brothers."

"My name is Lillia, my lord." She blushed, realizing that she still held his hand, and moved away to curtsey once more.

The knight bowed once more in return. "Lovely Lillia, I will bring tidings of you to your brothers, and, Maker willing, I will bring them back to you at the end of the March."

The lady, enchanted by the kind words of this handsome young man, smiled and said "I would like that, my lord. If I may ask your own name, so that my prayers to the Maker may fly to your favor?"

"My name is Tyrell." The knight returned to the road not long after, his head all looking forward to the Exalted March he would soon join, not realizing that his heart would afterward be continually looking backward to the beautiful young woman whose tears had touched him so deeply.

Six years passed away, and Tyrell fought well and bravely to spread the word of the Maker to those who refused it so staunchly. His sword was often wet with the blood of apostates and heretics, and his heart was often weary with the burden of those he killed. When he remembered Lillia, however, his heart grew light again, and he burned with the righteous fire of one with a true purpose, which all too often had more to do with a soft pair of eyes than the belief in spreading the Maker's word. Still, he fought well, and bravely. The March was too large a force for him to come upon Lillia's brothers, whomever he asked, and he could find no word of them anywhere, but he believed in his heart that he would return to find the family reunited, once the March had ended.

Finally, the March was driven back from its purpose. While certain parts of the force were slain and others merely driven back, Tyrell was among a small group of noblemen who were captured for ransom. Knowing that his father would not be able to afford it, Tyrell resigned himself to the shame of knowing he had not even earned a death on the battlefield, merely a life imprisoned until his captors either killed him or set him free, without any of his possessions or any money to reach home. In his lonely hours, of which there were many, his thoughts often turned to the lovely maiden he had left behind. Many were the rantings he heard from other inmates, some gone mad from long incarceration, others raging against the injustice of their circumstances, and still others loudly bemoaning the loss of their homes and families, so far away. Against all this, Tyrell could only hold the continual flame of his love for Lillia.

One day, months after his capture, Tyrell was again being transported from the commander's office, where weekly letters were sent with his seal to his father, written in a pitiful hand by his captors, begging for aid from one who could not afford it. As he walked, in heavy chains, thinking only of the love he had left behind, a stray word from the guards caught his ear.

"Yes, a woman, in chainmail. She says she has come to avenge her brothers and beloved. Stands outside the city gates and shouts challenges at the men there. A few of them got hot-headed and charged her, and she slew them. Since then, the commanders have been trying to decide what to do with her. None of the archers have the heart to slay a woman, even one who can actually fight. That's the whole problem with women going to war, you look at them and you start seeing your mother or sister or wife instead. It isn't right."

The captive knight heard all this with a pounding heart, knowing, somehow, who the woman outside the walls must be. But how, how had she come here? So far from her home, with nothing but a few silver coins? And how had she managed to slay men? His love, who had seemed so slight in memory, so fragile, could she be so strong? His mind racing with questions, he continued back to his cell, and for once wished the tiny window he had could show him the outside of the city, the place where he had witnessed so much death, just so he could see the face of his beloved once more.

Later that night, as he lay awake on his straw bed, he heard a commotion outside his cell. Before he could do more than sit up, the door to his cell was opened. A lithe form slithered through the shadows, a form he did not recognize, and it hissed his name. Surprised, he almost shouted, but the form was upon him and quieting him before he could do more than open his mouth.

"Quiet!" It whispered in his ear. "I have knocked the guards out, but we must make haste. Lillia waits below." Before he could ask more questions, the shadow was leading him out of his cell, along the twisting prison passageways and out into the black night.

Tyrell blinked as they emerged outside the dark fortress, and found himself looking at a large group of men like himself, some of whom he recognized, others who were strangers. The shadows shoved him in their direction, and then was gone without further instruction.

As he considered the extraordinary turn of events that had led to this circumstance, a voice addressed the group of men. "Soldiers of Ferelden's Exalted March, you have been rescued from your captivity by those who care deeply for your well-being. As we speak, more are being released while the soldiers slumber within the castle. Please follow us if you wish to be returned to your homes."

Tyrell's heart swelled within him as the voice spoke, and he called out swiftly in response. "And to whom do we owe our rescue? Whom may we thank for releasing us from the vile prison we have inhabited so long?"

A warrior in heavy armor stepped forward, but he was more slight than any warrior Tyrell had seen before. The warrior removed his helmet, and cascades of dark, lovely hair escaped as her face was revealed. Lillia smiled at her beloved as she responded. "Those who love you have come to see you freed."

\---------------------------

Laeti smiled up at her lover. "The women went to rescue their men. I take it that is not something that happened back then?"

Alistair shook his head. "Not back then. We Fereldens learned pretty quickly after that, however. It was still early on, you see, women had defended their homes and children but no men had had the bright idea to try them at actual battles. After that, well, it became more commonplace."

She snuggled into her beloved's chest, closing her eyes and inhaling his scent deeply, letting it permeate her very soul. "And did they end up together, Tyrell and Lillia? Does the story have a happy ending?"

He stroked her hair gently and replied softly, "Of course. They returned to Ferelden together. Lillia's brothers returned, albeit not rich, and she and Tyrell married and started their own farmstead on his father's land. Happily ever after."

\---------------------------

"Laeti! Good heavens, child, can you hear me?" Wynne hastily wove another healing spell over the elven woman's prone form. She did not seem to be fully unconscious, but her breathing was ragged from the arrow wound in her left lung.

She opened her eyes slightly. "Wynne? Is this a nightmare?" Her voice was weak, but obviously she wasn't gone just yet.

"No, my dear, simply the aftermath of a nasty Darkspawn attack. Don't move, I'll need to do at least two more healing spells to get you into walking shape. I wish you would let me cast shield spells on you before battle, walking into a fight with only a sword and a dagger has always seemed like pure foolishness to me."

Laeti smiled at the older woman's well-meaning words, and slipped back into blissful unconsciousness, knowing that her story was not finished yet.

 


End file.
